Vines of Time
by mistywabbit
Summary: A collection of drabbles/vignettes and one slightly longer one. Mostly 10/Rose.


**My first foray into the world of DW fanfiction. Let's just say I got a little bit excited about the return of certain characters last week, spent loads of time reading fics and then things just started popping into my head and demanding to be written... For those of you waiting for the next chap of _Concealed_, honest, it's coming, I swear it, like I said, I just got a little distracted and found myself having way too much fun playing with the Doctor instead...**

**A collection of drabbles/vignettes, mostly 10/Rose, spanning over their relationship. This was mostly written before the episode _Turn Left_ aired, and so is inevitably AU, which is what happens, I suppose, when you write things about on-going TV series. Please review! CC more than welcome! Oh, and if there's any obvious mistakes, I do apologise. Haven't seen some of the episodes in quite a while, so some pieces may have slipped my mind.**

**The characters within are the property of the BBC, and (aside from the Doctor himself) the creation of Russell T. Davis and his wonderful team of writers. Oh, and there's also a slight nod to Catherine Tate's Home for Ginger People... Anyway, I'll let that one explain itself.**

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* * *

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Vines of Time

"Forever," she tells him, and though he smiles, she knows he isn't happy.

"Forever," she tells him, until their forever is taken away.

"Forever," she promises, and then breaks it.

It would've been forever, for her forever, anyway, if Pete hadn't caught her.

"I'm never gonna see you again."

That's forever.

* * *

"So how _do_ I look then?"

Jackie hmms, tilting her head to the side and examining him.

Rose raises an eyebrow. "Quite – pretty, wouldn't you say, mum?"

The Doctor does not miss the what can only be described as evil glint that flashes between the two. He swallows. There is nothing worse than Tyler women out to make mischief, in his opinion.

Jackie nods slowly. "Sounds about right."

"'Pretty'?" he repeats. "'Pretty' – '_pretty_'? I am _not_ 'pretty'!" he exclaims. "Pretty manly, yes. Not just pretty. That adjective needs to be qualified."

Jackie cackles and the Doctor crosses his arms defensively. "Pretty manly," he insists. "Manly. That's more like it."

* * *

"Allons-y!" He is practically bouncing as he drags her out of the TARDIS door.

"Doctor?"

He turns round, flashes her a grin. "Yes, Rose?"

"Why is it – when you speak French, why doesn't the TARDIS translate it?"

"Ah," he murmurs approvingly. "Very good question that, very good. And do you know –"

"You're not entirely sure, are you?"

"Well," he says, drawing the word out. "No. Well, I say no, but I actually have a fair idea. Well, I mean, I know, actually, on account of –"

"Your being brilliant," she interrupts.

"Yes, quite. Because I am." He lifts an approving eyebrow. "You're quite good at this finishing sentences lark, aren't you?"

"'S cos I've spent far too much time with you."

It's enough to make his step falter, the grip on her hand shift barely perceptibly.

"Too much?" he repeats, much quieter now.

She laughs instead of letting herself become flustered by the dark look in his eyes. "Never," she says. "Never."

He speeds up again, the bounce back in his step. "That's what I like to hear," he nods, though she can tell his mood has deflated slightly.

She squeezes his hand again, wrapping her other around his arm. "_Never_."

He gives her a manic grin again, his eyes sparkling. "Good girl," he replies warmly. "Now, the TARDIS…"

* * *

She's gone, suddenly. He'd long been trying to prepare himself for it, long been readying himself for the day when she told him that their adventures weren't fun anymore, that she was tired of running, that there were ways to save the world that didn't involve so much of it, but nothing could have prepared him for her sudden absence. Really, it was the manner of her departure. He had been warned, but he'd gone out of his way to pass off what the beast said as nonsense, as an attempt to scare them both, even though it had niggled at him, even though the words echoed around his mind every time he glanced at her.

_Dead._

Suddenly the TARDIS is so quiet. There are no more curious questions, no more giggles, clothes strewn about the place, no more teasing and poking and playing and everything is so empty, _he_ is so empty.

It doesn't seem right, that he can never speak to her again, and hadn't he told her not to say never ever? Hadn't he told her, all those times, not to tempt fate, to stop saying forever, like their forevers were one and the same, like they would go on for eternity?

Maybe it's better, almost, that she's alive. Trapped, but alive, and with those she loves, with those that love her. It saves him from the day that she would tell him she wanted to go home; it saves him from watching her grow older and older, and him staying so young. Relatively speaking.

But then –

It had been _him_ to tell her to stop saying never, and here he is saying it. If he is to play by his own rules, if he is to be fair – and he is nothing if not fair – then he will prove himself right.

He is _always_ right.

He'll find a way to her. He'll find a way to tell her goodbye.

* * *

"Rose." It is almost a question, but not quite. "Rose," he says again, rolling the word around his mouth as she steps towards him. "Rose, Rose Tyler," he says now, more loudly, a huge smile breaking out on his face. Hands in pockets, he begins to swagger forwards, but who is he kidding, really?

Not her, for certain. She's almost running now, and he holds his arms out to her, hurries towards her. "Rose," he says again, thinks it's all he can manage. She's half-laughing, half-crying, and he thinks he might be doing the same as something like joy fills his navel, tugging at his hearts. If it was physically possible, he might describe it as breathlessness. It isn't though. Time Lord-y stuff. Brilliant, really. "Rose," he repeats when she throws herself into his arms and he swings her about, grinning like the madman she thinks he is. "Rose, my Rose," he manages, and presses a kiss to her hair, to her cheek, wanting to wipe her damp face but not wanting to release her enough to do so. Not when he finally has her back. He presses her into him instead, and she returns the hug, equally as fierce. "My Rose."

"Doctor." Her voice is small, muffled by his suit jacket, her breath hot and damp on his shoulder. Later, when he thinks back to the moment, he wonders over that voice, wonders what it is that has made her sound like that, what she has seen. But then she pulls her head away, and he catches full sight of her delighted grin. "Doctor," she says, her voice so warm that it wraps round him. "Oh God."

"Some people call me that, y'know," he offers her a wide smile. Says words that aren't "Rose," or "my," or "Tyler." Proves that somewhere, somehow, his brain is still functioning, that his unstoppable gob has not, in fact, been stopped. Just stalled for a second. Or 257 of them, to be exact. Which he is.

Her teeth flash in return, a glimpse of her tongue against her lips. "Still as bloody arrogant as ever, aren't you?"

"Oh yes," he sighs happily. "My clever, clever Rose. I always knew you were a bit of a genius."

"Oi!" says another voice. "Introductions?" Donna reminds him. "No manners this one," she says confidentially to Rose. "No idea how I put up with him. Or how you did either. I take it from his being even more nonsensical than usual, that you must be Rose."

* * *

"What did you think you were _doing_, Rose? You can't just go – you _can't_ just cross between worlds whenever it takes your fancy! It's not safe. It's dangerous."

"You could save yourself some breath, y'know. No need to say "it's not safe" _and_ "it's dangerous" when they mean the same thing, is there?"

He pauses for a moment, shakes his head angrily and begins again. "You know what can happen. You know what happened last time. What were you _thinking_?"

She folds her arms across her chest, forcing her voice to remain cool, calm. "I was thinking," she replies slowly, deliberately, "that you might like some warning of what's to come. I was thinkin' – though clearly I'm mistaken – that it might come in useful. Be a bit handy, y'know? Course, seems like I've forgotten you don't actually need any help, not when you can blunder about on your own. Oh," she adds, "an, I was thinkin', yeah, you might just be a little bit pleased to see me. Clearly not, so I'll just piss off now, shall I? Go back across? Let the world end cos _you_ don't approve?"

"Don't be so obstinate." He sighs angrily, runs a hand through his hair. "What," he tries, starts again, "What's coming?"

"The darkness." Her voice is small again, quiet and closed, not the angry of a mere 7.8 seconds ago. "The darkness is coming. The storm."

"_I'm_ the Storm," he points out, but she shakes her head.

"Not you. Not this time."

"You've got to give me more," he says instead. "And I'll have you know," he reminds her, suddenly indignant, "that I've been 'blundering' about on my own for over 900 years, and I haven't managed to kill myself yet."

"No," she returns drily, "just regenerated ten times."

"Ah!" he exclaims in agitation. "But one of those times was saving you, Rose Tyler."

"And only because I saved you!" she retaliates, the withdrawnness all gone.

He pauses for a moment, watching the anger, the determination and frustration, and the sadness storm in her eyes, and he smiles. "Course I'm bloody pleased to see you."

* * *

The Doctor has been waiting for the kettle to boil for five hours, fifty-four minutes and three seconds precisely. Three hundred and fifty-four minutes and three seconds. 21,243 seconds, in all.

Well, he says waiting, but actually, it boiled a long time ago. Five hours and fifty-three minutes ago, to be precise. The reason he has remained more or less static (an impressive feat for a man who spends most of his time fidgeting) instead of running around and planning is because Rose is sitting across from him. That also explains why he has been silent all this time too. That, in his mind, is even more impressive. When he switched the kettle on and glanced over his shoulder, he stopped humming and abruptly fell silent. He hasn't spoken to her, not a word, nor she to him.

To be fair though, she is asleep.

It isn't even that he's spent the entire time watching her. It's more that he can't bear the thought of leaving her alone in there. All this time apart from her, and now he can't even leave her in a room for five minutes. Well, five hours, fifty-five minutes and seventeen seconds. He knows she's on the ship. He knows, therefore, that she's safe. The TARDIS would tell him otherwise, if anything happened to her. So why can't he walk out of the room? Why can't he just make himself a nice cup of tea, and leave?

He runs a hand through his hair and then pulls it down over his face, elongating his features before allowing them to spring back into place. He sighs. She has slumped over the table, arms pillowing her head. From somewhere, she has acquired his overcoat, and it is draped over her. Her hair is ruffled, and on one side of her face, her eye make-up has smudged where it has rubbed against the back of her hand. An abandoned mug of tea sits next to her.

"So this is where you've been hiding." Jack breezes into the kitchen, lights coming on brightly. "Been looking for you."

Rose mumbles in her sleep, and Jack glances over, noticing her for the first time. "Well that explains it."

The Doctor's glance flicks from Rose to Jack and back again. "What?"

"Where you've been."

"I didn't know she was here!" he hisses defensively.

"No, but I bet you discovered that she was quite a while ago, didn't you?" The Doctor only looks away and Jack makes a smug noise in his throat. The Doctor hates him in that moment, far too all-knowing for his liking. "Was that you?" the captain says, nodding towards the coat covering her as he selects a mug for himself.

"No, actually," he admits. "Don't know who it was. Might've done it herself."

"Isn't there somewhere more comfortable for her?"

He does not like the suggestive tone in Jack's voice. "Don't dare say it, Jack. Say it, and I'll screwdriver your mouth shut. Your trousers too, if you're not careful."

Jack mimes zipping his mouth closed, the smirk covering his face taking away from any sincerity the action may have.

"There's her room," the Doctor says eventually. "I don't want to disturb her though."

"Nonsense," Jack snorts. "You just don't want to let her out of your sight." A raised eyebrow in his direction prompts the captain to add, "You've been like that since I got here, at least. Maybe you're worried we'll run off together and stop whatever little love thing it is you two've got going on."

"Not funny, not funny at all, Jack."

"Just saying," he says casually. "By the way, bit of advice from Captain to Doctor – treating her like she's a naughty little girl might fulfil your fantasies, but I bet it does nothing for her morale."

"Hmm?" the Doctor says, his eyes on Rose. Then he registers what Jack has said. "What? _What?_"

"You barely speak to her, and when you do, half the time you're scolding her."

"Am I? I'm not. I'm really not. But do you know what she did, Jack? She found a way to come through – when I told her it couldn't be done, when I told her it was impossible, when I told her it would tear every single universe apart – and she's been coming and going as she pleases."

"Sounds like love to me," Jack says, pouring milk into a mug. "D'you want some?"

He apparently forgets why he came in here in the first place. "No, ta. But –"

"She's prepared to tear universes apart to be with you. If that ain't love, I don't know what is."

"Shut up," the Doctor says again. "You know it's not like that. You know that isn't why she came."

"Oh so that's why you're sulking then. The ultimate risk isn't for you at all, it's so she can help save billions of lives. So we can stop every world from ending. Only you would have a problem with that."

Rose mumbles again. The Doctor leans back against the counter, crossing his legs. "Keep your voice down, will you."

"Can't have Sleeping Beauty being woken, can we?"

He shoots Jack a glare instead of speaking. In reply, he merely lifts an eyebrow, raising his mug to his lips and taking a sip.

"She's different," the Doctor says finally.

Jack rolls his eyes. "Were you honestly expecting otherwise? Can you say, in all this time, that you haven't changed at all?"

The Doctor hesitates, his eyes fixed on the sleeping figure. "No," he admits finally.

"Who knows what she's seen," Jack murmurs. "Her world's ahead of ours, right?" The Doctor nods, and Jack adds, "Poor thing. All alone, for all that time. She must've been so lonely."

"She had her family with her. I thought she'd be alright," the Doctor says defensively. "If I could've chosen otherwise, I would've, you know I would've but – at least she was with _them_," he justifies. "At least she was safe."

"Wasn't that safe." Rose lifts her head, just, bleary eyes regarding the pair. She can't quite meet the Doctor's eyes though, her gaze seems to slide over him, and he wonders, vaguely, how long she's been awake, how much she's heard. "That's why I came back."

"Well hello Sleeping Beauty," Jack smiles at her. "You want coffee? Or tea?"

Rose sits up, moaning softly, one hand to her back.

"Not the most comfortable of positions," the Doctor observes.

"No," she agrees, rubbing a hand across her eyes and successfully smearing more make-up. "Tea, please. I was so tired, I just sort of fell asleep. I didn't think to ask –"

The Doctor puts his hands in his pockets, attempting to look casual. "There's always your room."

"My room?"

Jack puts a mug down in front of Rose. "I'll leave you two lo –" he stops at a glare from the Doctor, "– to it."

"'S still there. Wouldn't touch it," the Doctor continues offhandedly once Jack leaves, trying for blasé as he casts about for an excuse. "Might have, y'know, _girly_ things in it. Things that you don't want me to see, and I definitely don't want to see. Makes sense. Leave it alone."

"But you –" She's puzzled, and he realises he isn't going to get away with it. Why does he always have to pick clever humans? "But you said I couldn't come back. So why would you just leave it?"

"Things I didn't want to see," he repeats, less convincingly.

"You'd lose a room in the ship."

He taps his nose, leans forward slightly. "Bigger on the inside, y'see. Anyway," he adds, blustering on before she can comment further. "Your room's still there, like I said. So if you're planning on staying –"

"If you're planning on letting me," she counters.

"Don't be ridiculous," he returns. "Why wouldn't I? So if you're intending to sleep, shower, that sort of thing, there are other places you could be doing it than in the galley. More appropriate ones. With beds. Clothes. That sort of thing, y'see. Girly things," he says again, emphasising his point. "_Your_ girly things."

"Okay," she says, a little uncertain, a little hesitant.

"Right," he replies. "Good. You remember the way?"

She shoots him a look, a look that says 'I may not be a Time Lord, but I'm not bloody stupid.'

"Course you do," he answers himself. "Right."

* * *

"Have you got a bloody gob on you or what?"

"Rose," the Doctor says warningly. "Be nice."

Donna makes an outraged noise. "Have _I_ got a gob on _me_?" she repeats.

"Think that's what I said, yeah. Maybe you just couldn't hear because of the sound of your voice echoing in your ears."

"You're asking if I've got a gob on me, and you're saying _that_?"

"Donna," the Doctor tries.

Both women turn on him. "And you can shut it an' all," Rose says first.

"Mouth the size of the bloody Channel Tunnel, this one," Donna adds.

Rose and Donna exchange glances and smile. Perhaps they'll get on after all.

* * *

"He grieved for you, you know."

At first, Rose wasn't sure what to make of Donna. It almost seemed as if she had supplanted her, but she knew there was a certain dynamic missing. The Doctor didn't love Donna, not the way he did her. Not that he'd ever told her, just said her name in a way that she'd hoped would be followed by it.

And not that she was sure he did now.

Which was why when Donna said what she did, things started to make sense.

"What?" Rose said, wanting to make sure.

"He grieved for you. Said you were lost. Sort of."

"Oh."

"When I met him first, he'd just said goodbye to you." _No,_ a part of her wanted to interrupt, _no, he hadn't. Had been going to, but never had_. She held the thought between her teeth, swallowed the bitterness that accompanied it. "That's sort of how I met him, in fact. I was pulled into the TARDIS somehow. Well, not really. Huon particles in me and the TARDIS all attracting each other, some malarkey like that. He never really did explain why it happened at the same time."

Rose smiled a little at that. That was him, all right.

"Martha said he did with her too. Barely noticed her, poor girl."

"Martha?"

"You'll like her. She's a doctor too. A proper one, though. A real one. Not one of these self-proclaimed titles like his. Arrogant little streak of –"

"Martha?" she prompts again.

For a moment, Donna looks affronted at being interrupted, but something shifts in her face, and she smiles, all too knowingly in Rose's opinion. "He travelled with her for a while, after you. Poor thing fell in love with him, while he was still mooning over you." Rose tries not to blink at the past tense. "He barely knew she was there sometimes. You know how it is. Blokes. She's getting married now," Donna adds, deliberately, watching her face. "Works for UNIT."

"Oh," Rose says again. She's had experience of UNIT, of Other UNIT. "Guns and –"

Donna nods. "Guns and stuff. He doesn't like them much, does our Doctor." Rose passes the claim of ownership off as turn of speech. "It's what he did to her, he made her like that, and he knows it. You should've seen his face." There is no smile, no laugh in her voice.

"Can't imagine what he thinks of me with one."

"Probably best not to," Donna agrees.

"How long?" Rose asks, despite herself. "How long did he grieve for me?"

"Oh, you know the Doctor," his new companion replies. "Nothing's linear with him, even when it is." She smiles slightly, and Rose feels a little bit of hope flare in her at the expression. "I'd say till about five minutes before you walked in the door."

* * *

"Oh, I like this one," Jack proclaims loudly. "I like this one a lot. Sassy redhead, aren't you? Where did you pick her up?"

"Pick me up?" Donna repeats. "_Pick me up_? I'll have you know, he didn't pick me up. If anyone did any picking up, it was me picking up him, because he was hanging off a roof."

Jack laughs approvingly as the Doctor's cheeks take on the slightest tinge of red. "Well," he says, and then stops.

"Who knew the Doc had a thing for redheads?" Jack says ponderously, his sing-song voice teasing. "What do you think, Rosie? Could I pull it off?"

"Nah," she says, laughing, before tugging at a strand of her own, blond hair. "How about me?"

"This is anti-ginger, this is," Donna says loudly.

"He does though," Rose says suddenly. The Doctor shoots her a sharp glare, realising what she's going to say. His pleading expression doesn't stop her from saying it though. "I know he does."

"Oh really?" Jack's interest piques.

"Actually, to be fair, it was actually _me_ who picked Donna up when _she_ was hanging off the side of a building, not the other way around. Well, pulled her in through the window, really, but who's counting, eh?" He smiles, hands in pockets, rocking on the balls of his feet.

"Yeah," Rose says, continuing despite his valiant efforts to change subjects. "When he regenerated, well, after he stopped blabbering about hopping for our lives, and Barcelona, and trying to kill us, anyway. And the Sycorax. Stops defending the flaming Earth to ask me if he's ginger. Always wanted to be one apparently."

Two pairs of eyes turn curiously to the Doctor, one amused, the other accusing. "Don't look at me like that, Donna."

"He could be," Jack says, moving closer. "Ginger in the sideburns, see? Mostly just brown, though." He pokes his finger at them, and the Doctor shoots him a glare. "Temper like a redhead, anyway."

"Oi, watch it, you," Donna interjects. Jack takes a step back, hands raised, and Donna rounds on the Doctor. "What – the – hell," she says slowly, "is regeneration?"

"Ah," the Doctor manages. "Ah. Right, well. Thanks for that Rose, hadn't told her yet."

"What, were you just gonna not bother, like you did with me? Cos that really worked."

"It's not exactly in my plans, at the moment."

"This one would have an arm off before you could explain," Jack says, then takes another step back when Donna shoots a look at him.

"Well?"

"He could just re-grow it though, like he did with his hand last time," Rose is compelled to point out.

"'He could just' _what_?"

"Ah."

* * *

He won't touch her, not nearly as much as he used to, anyway. She wonders if it's about what Donna told her. About Martha.

Or, she hesitates, forces herself to add, about him grieving her. About him treating her as if she was dead.

Is he – is he _over_ her?

She watches for the signs. Other than the emphatic greeting, the sweeping her off her feet bit, he barely touches her. His hand doesn't slide out for her to hold, he doesn't wiggle his fingers invitingly. They stay quite firmly in his pockets, or on the TARDIS console.

Donna gets a hand. Martha gets a hug. Even Jack – even Jack gets warm welcomes, a bit of flirting, the odd clap on the back. Not her though.

He won't sidle across the room, lean casually next to her, inviting her to lean against him. He won't sit next to her, at least, not without distance between them. They used to sit, sometimes, after really long days that weren't days, as he'd keep reminding her, and she'd rest her head on his shoulder, or he'd sling an arm round her and she'd lean against his chest. He'd let her fall asleep to the thrum of two heartbeats, just sometimes. He'd wrap an easy arm around her, two, pull her in for a hug, would let her link arms with him and huddle in close – not even 'cause she was scared or upset, or 'cause she was cold. Just 'cause.

When he does touch her now, it's at arm's length, a tense finger tapping her shoulder, a grim expression on his face. The easy smile is almost gone, for her. She needs to coax it out to see it. He wears his sorrowful face, his distant face. His refusing-to-let-anyone-in face, his refusing-to-let-anything-out face.

If she touches him, it's no different. He tenses, clears his throat with a nervous little cough, tries to move away without making it look like that's what he's doing. Although that's exactly what it is.

She wonders if he expects her to go back, after this. She wonders if he wants her to leave. Can't be that, can it?

She thinks he doesn't want to grieve for her all over again.

* * *

"Am I like Jack?"

He steps back a little, an amused, curious little smile on his face. "Pardon?" _Odd little human._

"Am I like Jack?" she repeats again, more slowly.

"Like Jack? Like Captain Jack? Like Captain Jack Harkness? Our Captain Jack? Noooo. No, no no no no. Why would you think that?"

"I mean," she explains, trying not to sound annoyed, "am I _wrong_ like Jack? You said he was wrong – out of his time? Am I like that?"

"You're not out of your time, Rose."

"I know, but – parallel universe and all that?"

"This is your universe. Besides," the Doctor thrusts his hands in his pockets, "he can't die. He's a fixed point. S'what's wrong with him."

"I can die. I think. I don't know. I might be the same."

"Let's not experiment, and just assume that you can, eh?"

She knocks the grin off his face with her next sentence. "If I'm not wrong, then why won't you come near me?"

"What?"

"You heard."

"What?" he says anyway. "What?"

"'M not explaining it – you know what."

"Yes, but – c'mere."

Rose shakes her head. "Pity. I don't want a pity hug, I want a real one. You won't touch me. I want to know why."

"Ah." His hand runs through his hair, rubbing his head. "Can't say, really, only that – No, can't say." He brings his hand down and holds it in front of his face, examining it. "Can't hurt though, could it? No, especially not when – not when I – no, couldn't hurt. Want to, in fact, because I – can. I – Rose, I –" He stops, shakes his head.

She understands more from this stream of words then she should do. His hand falls back to the TARDIS console, and she touches it, just slightly, a finger resting against his.

He sighs, and she glances up at him. He is staring straight down, not looking at her. When he raises his head to speak, he looks straight ahead. Away from her.

"Rose. My Rose."

He moves his hand to close round hers.

It is enough.

* * *

"You're still here."

He sounds vaguely surprised.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He clears his throat, his voice thick. "I just thought, you know, Jackie, and –" He breaks off when she shakes her head, his mouth opening just a little. "No Jackie?" he repeats. "Pete?" She shakes her head again. "Mickey? The baby?" he tries. "Rose, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"Why wouldn't I want to stay?" she says instead, trying to push away the grief that tightens her throat, the pity in his eyes.

"I didn't – I just didn't think there would be anything left for you, through here."

She raises an eyebrow at him, swallows. "Don't be so thick."

Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't that. "Hmm?"

"There's you, isn't there?"

The Doctor looks down, then glances back up at her, a smile curving his lips. If she didn't know any better, she'd say he looked shy. "There is."

* * *

"Rose."

She glances up, and he is standing far closer than she expects, far closer than he has since she came back. She has to tilt her head up to meet his eyes.

"Rose," he repeats, and brushes her hand with his, lightly enough to make her wonder if she'd imagined it, before he thrusts his hands into his trouser pockets.

For once, he doesn't seem willing to talk, his lips firmly pressed shut, his throat moving.

"Doctor?" she asks softly.

"I – I – well, I do, but – This is incredibly hard to say, d'you know that? Of course you do. You've said it. I – How do you do that, by the by?"

She frowns, small creases gathering at the top of her nose. "Do what?"

He swallows again, feeling his shoulder muscles tense. "Rose Tyler, I love you."

She steps back a little, surprise covering her face. Oh no, he hasn't – he hasn't completely misjudged this, has he? Has he – has he blown it? Can she have stopped loving him – she'd said she'd loved him, just before, and he'd been going to say it too, and he would've done, he almost did, and did she mean it a different way? Why on earth were humans so _complicated_? For simple beings, they were remarkably difficult to understand, sometimes. No, she can't have meant it any other way. She can't have stopped loving him. No, not possible. He's brilliant, isn't he? How could she _not_ love him? That's the real question. Then again, his arrogance _probably_ isn't going to persuade her into it if she doesn't. Which she couldn't. He is the lovable sort, isn't he? "Aren't I?" he says out loud.

She frowns again. "Aren't you what? Never mind," she says rapidly, when he opens his mouth to explain. "You – you love me?" she questions, her voice a murmur. He hesitates, shuts his mouth to stop him babbling his way out of it, and just nods instead. He can blabber at her if he has to, make a joke out of it, but he waits a moment, just to see if he has to.

"Quite right too," she says finally, a smug smile covering her face.

"'Quite right' – '_quite right_'?" he repeats, then, "Oh. Of course. Very funny. Is that it then? Is that all I get? 'Quite right too?'"

"More than three years I was through there," she reminds him, "and that's all you left me with. 'Quite right too' and you babbling on and wasting time."

"Ah, yes, well, but you do realise, don't you, that that's generally what I do, isn't it? I just talk and talk until I run out of breath, but I can't, you see, so I just keep talking."

"I do," she assures him. "I know that you talk. All the time. 'M used to it. Even though I've been stuck through there all this time. You talk. You used to brood, and now you talk."

"Yes. Yes, that's right. I do. Some people say it's a flaw, my downfall, but I don't think it is, y'know. I mean, I just talk at people until they back off. Most people think I'm mad, not brilliant. Which is, actually, a bit of a problem, but then maybe they just underestimate me. Fine line between madness and brilliance, and I'm just on the right side of it. The brilliant side of it," he clarifies. "Maybe I just surprise people into doing what I tell them, which is generally to stop doing what they're doing. D'you think?"

Rose raises an eyebrow, and he realises he has managed to talk himself off the subject. The important subject, that he has been meaning to broach with her for quite a while, especially since he managed to fail to say it when he had his last chance. Because he was talking. Maybe it is a bit of a downfall, then? Ah, he's done it again, hasn't he?

She's – she's _laughing_ at him, and, that's not quite fair, is it? "That's not quite fair," he tells her aloud. "I mean, I just go and tell you all this – all this stuff, this _emotional_ stuff, that you of all people know I don't generally go blabbing my mouth off about, and you laugh. That's just not right, is it? I don't think so, no. No it isn't." He crosses his arms over his chest. "I don't go laughing at you, do I? No I don't, because I know how you Tyler women slap. I've had the honour of your hand gracing my cheek in a way that is neither warm nor affectionate, so I don't laugh at you because I don't want to have it done again. Yet here you are, here you are and you're laughing at me, and what can I do back? Nothing. Nothing. I just have to stand here and take it. Take it like a man, that's me."

"Shut up," she tells him, "and for God's sake don't start sulking."

He pouts a little, and then at the sight of her grin, of her tongue poking through her teeth, he stops. He has a feeling he is being mocked.

"Rose," he says again. "I love you."

"Then it's a good thing I love you too, isn't it? Otherwise I don't think I could stand to have you prattling on at me all the time." She moves closer to him, slipping an arm around his waist and resting her head on his shoulder, facing the TARDIS controls. "What now, Doctor Blabber?" He wraps his arm around her shoulder and pulls her into him. "Here, I've got a question I've been meaning to ask you for ages now. Is there a cure for that? Is it, like, Motormouthitis or something?"

"Hey!" he protests, but not really meaning it. "I'm sure I could think of _something_ to do with it." He waggles his eyebrows suggestively and she giggles. The Doctor smiles. Any amount of insults from Rose Tyler is completely worth it, as long as he gets to hear her make that noise again.

* * *

She says that word again, the one that she knows he hates, and the one that, now, she knows he is right to hate.

"Forever."

The Doctor swallows, says slowly, heavily, "Rose."

"Don't." She knows already that their forever has been taken away. Was taken away. Was suspended. Halted, irrevocably removed.

"D'you know," she says instead, "I missed you so much, I started using big words. Makes it seem like you're there, somehow."

"Really?" he smiles, his mood deflected for a moment. "Like what?"

"Irrevocably removed," she repeats, out loud this time. The corners of his mouth drop slightly, but he makes a valiant attempt to keep smiling. "Never would've said 'irrevocably' before I met you."

"No," he agrees happily, though it seems a little forced, to her. "I'm glad I could help. Educate. Well, I say educate, but really it's imitate. Although, that's often proved to be an effective method of education. Copying. Repeating. Reciting. You going to keep at it?"

She smiles, and shakes her head. "When will I get a word in edgeways, with you gabbing at me again? I only did it to fill the silence. No need now. Not for a long time."

She can hear him inhale sharply. "Don't say it."

"I won't." Instead, she tilts her head, thinking. "How about… till I get sick of you?"

"Better," he says, though a little hesitantly.

"But not like when I get sick of you talking _all the time_, or sulking, or being awkward or deliberately obtuse, because that would probably be some point next week. Not like when you've done something stupid, or I have, and you've yelled at me or I'm so angry I can't stand to look at you."

He passes the chance to sulk at her claiming he sulks. Pouts a little though. "How, then?" She shrugs, and he tries again. "When will you get sick of me?"

"I won't," she says simply, and he smiles, because it isn't a forever.


End file.
